


infinity

by silvery_sunset



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bad Decisions, Fluff, Gen, Love Confessions, M/M, Miya Atsumu Can't Feelings, Post Timeskip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:21:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28162338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvery_sunset/pseuds/silvery_sunset
Summary: Miya Atsumu has made a lot of bad decisions in his 20-ish years living on this planet.Driving through a storm at late night chasing a high school sweetheart is likely to be the worst of them.
Relationships: Kita Shinsuke/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	infinity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kitagod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitagod/gifts).



> It's my first Atsukita fic!! It's a gay little silly Atsumu clowning story dedicated to the one and only Kira. Oh, Kira how I care you. 
> 
> I know the tradition for 18th bday is gifting +18 stuff but I feel like we need the wholesomeness in life and this fic was inspired all in things we both have screamed at each other in Twitter direct messages before. 
> 
> Eu amo você :) and I hope you have the most amazing day!! 
> 
> Enjoy!!

It's a forty-five minutes long way to Hyogo. The rainy season has come earlier to bless the harvest and compensate for a previous year of loss, but, right now, it was a bother Atsumu wanted gone from his view. The heavy droplets of water splattered on the windbreaker, blurring his view of the road, wetting the track and making the travel unnecessarily life risking. 

What brings Miya Atsumu to drive all the way to his hometown at almost 11 pm in the middle of a summer storm, surprisingly, is a memory he'd been holding dear to heart for five long, long years. 

Until it couldn't fit in there anymore. 

He's woken up hours earlier, hair disheveled from sleeping with his face buried on the pillows thrown on the sofa. Healing from a sore calf, he can't play volleyball. Atsumu had been groping and tossing his ball around the apartment all day, feeling its shape under his fingertips even when it is not there. He feels like a sick, perverted old man imagining his hands running over the leather. 

Atsumu is sentenced to fifteen days away from the love of his life and hasn't been dealing well with it. He's watched all the movies in his list, caught up with the manga Osamu threatened to spoil him, called his demon brother to hear a voice that wasn't his own echoing in the walls of the apartment. 

In the drought of two weeks, the room left for thought in his volleyball dominated brain brought the memories back, a bittersweet ache to his chest, funny tingling on his knuckles that felt like the brush of calloused fingers under his. Calloused by the sport and years of hard work and dedication. Of perfect execution of every task given. 

Atsumu doesn't take the ball that night, preferring to stare at the ceiling of his bedroom munching shrimp flavored chips, hoping the crunchy noise would muffle the scream in his head, coming from his bratty, imbecile 16 year-old self. 

"Fuck, I still like Kita-san" could be heard inside his room, so silent that Atsumu would feel the sound echoing to the rest of the apartment if he wasn't busy jumping from his bed and walking in circles in his own bedroom, only wearing boxers, cursing himself for his own obliviousness. 

Somewhere that night, Suna Rintarou's hand twitched, Miya Osamu cackled, Ojiro Aran placed a hand on his face and ran it over it, sighing tiredly, none of them knew the reason why, at all.

After five years since his second year of high school, five years after the day he had hid the second button of his shirt's collar in his pocket, watching the cherry blossom petals fall on the ground of the park near the courtyard of the school, the wind blowing them in the direction of the group of third years that walked away chatting happily, leaving the volleyball court in the school's gym. 

Aran-kun, Akagi-san and Omimi-san. 

He'd come back to the gym that afternoon, determined to deliver a button and the words he'd been waiting to utter to Kita since the year had started and he realized the warmth in his body that the care package and a note written in neat calligraphy was not entirely due to his fever. 

It came back to Atsumu seeing the way his captain, his first love, the way Shinsuke gazed at their team banner hanging from the tallest of the stands. 

The warmth from golden colored irises locking with his own and giving him the subtlest, yet happiest of the smiles he could receive. 

He clutched tight to the captain jersey, burying the button in his pocket, throat tightening the words in, hoping they'd part ways and it'd be it. The first time Atsumu's heart had skipped a beat at a smile, hoped and ran from a touch and squeezed itself inside his chest, trying to make itself as small as possible when watching him leave. 

So realizing he hasn't left at all, for the idiotic beating heart of Atsumu, was a bucket of cold water to the face of a volleyball deprived man in peak of frustration. The rain is pouring, he'll arrive, god knows when, hopefully alive, but he will get the answer to the question he'd never asked. Curse his coward high school self. 

It's the feeling of Kita's hands closing his own over the jersey fabric. "I asked for it to be yers. Ya deserve it."

"I'll make ya even more proud next year." He remembers swallowing a sob, stinging eyes fixed on the floor. 

"I'm sure you will."

The rain falls on Atsumu's messy hair as he sprints towards the half open gate of the farm, he doesn't care about the car being out under the water. His sneakers are soaking on the dirty and wet moisture on the floor. 

His eyes are watery when he knocks on Kita's, no, on Shinsuke's door. Atsumu leans his forehead against the wood, letting the droplets of rain run slowly over his face, hair damp against his forehead. 

It creaks open, remembering him to keep his balance for a few more seconds. 

"Atsumu?" 

His eyes are blurry with water with unknown origins at this point, but there's no mistaking that sound. Slight tremble, the minimal amount of stutter coming to his ears that send his mind into spiraling. 

He opens his mouth to speak, words stuck in his throat, Atsumu doesn't know which words to use even. He's relieved Kita looks evenly confused, afraid even, with hints of hesitation in small fidgeting with the front of the coat he's wearing. 

"Yer shaking." Kita says, a hand touching his shoulder. "Come in, I ain't letting ya catch a cold." 

He's right, it's cold, the wind is freezing his body to the point of Atsumu starting to believe his skin is turning blue, maybe purple. 

When Kita takes a towel and cups his cheek to softly wipe the water away, hands warm, calloused but oh, so soft on his face, Atsumu knows it. 

He doesn't like Kita-san. 

He leans into the warmth of Kita's touch and lets out the breath he's been holding since he threw himself inside his car to drive to Hyogo in the middle of a storm. 

"Take these off, they're wet, I'm gonna get ya a blanket to warm ya up. I'll put the clothes in the dryer." He said, making his way to the kitchen. 

Atsumu sighs, runs a hand through his still slightly wet hair and wonders, for the nth time in the past hour, what the hell is he even doing.

He's in love. In love with the guy who simply welcomed him into his house in the middle of the rain as if he'd been waiting for his arrival. The guy that's making tea for him, the smell flooding the house. 

He wants to spend the rest of his life buried in the warmth of those hands. 

"I'm an idiot." He groans, throwing his head to the back of the chair Kita had got him so he wouldn't wet the sofa. Taking his clothes off and wincing at the way they stuck to his body, Atsumu looked away and covered his chest when Kita came back with the blanket and two mugs of steaming hot tea in a tray. 

"Granny says it's a cold killer. If ya came earlier she'd be happy to make ya a garlic soup too." Kita snorted, putting the blanket over his shoulders. Atsumu could swear the ghost of an amused smile appeared, lips twitching upwards for a millisecond.

"Ya really don't mind me just barging in yer house with no reason, in the middle of the rain?" Atsumu sighed, sipping from the mug, letting the sweet taste of honey and lemon inside his throat. It isn't itching anymore, but there's words still buried in there, urging to get out, drowned by the tea and thoughts he wants to shut down for once. 

"I think if there's anything ya wanna tell me, I'm sure ya will."

A single tear escapes and falls with a faint sound inside the mug of tea. 

"I think I've waited too much already." His eyes look down, fixated on the soothing warmth blowing on his face. 

"Ya know, Kita-san, there's times where I remember what ya said about our team motto." Atsumu looked up, watching Kita's face turn into a gaze of attentiveness, that shadow of a smile never leaving his features. "There's been memories I've been trying to forget, focusing on volleyball, meeting my new teammates, grown-up stuff." Atsumu snorted. 

"But I could never forget. And they're what made me do a lot of stupid shit but today, specially, to drive here to tell ya." 

Atsumu, has always worn his heart in his sleeve, too obvious, too open, too innocent about his own feelings to anyone. He'd sigh and daydream about the pretty figure of the serious and responsible team in his second year of high school, get kicked by Osamu after wondering what surname to use on the certificate. 

He thinks it's lost with the angst of adulthood, he isolates himself in his first months and gets thrown in the middle of a trio of the most chaotic and talented people in Japan, sets for the spiker of his dreams, feels like he's been through hell back to heaven to hell again. 

Still, in the dead silence of his apartment, something is missing. Atsumu knows it's not the weight on the top.of the bunk bed he missed anymore. It's too big, too cold. 

He knows loneliness, he hopes it to be the end of his path and the consequence of his hesitation and cowardice. 

He feels like the wind is blowing the water all over his body, he can't breathe while running in the rain, Atsumu is choking the words, begging to let them out and follow his life with a broken heart. He'd get over it, maybe in ten years of more, who knows?

Atsumu feels heat all over again. 

The thumb rubbing circles on his wrist, the smile, now fully visible, so warm and welcoming, tells him it'll be okay. That time hasn't passed at all for the burning feeling that squeezes Atsumu's chest, as strong as six years ago, if not even stronger. 

"I love ya." He whispers. Fingers interlock with his. 

"Shinsuke." The name rolls out of his tongue, foreign but fitting. Sweet even. He's always wondered what it'd feel like. 

The cold is gone when soft lips meet Atsumu's in a chaste kiss, so quick he could barely process the shivers running down his entire body. "Me too, Atsumu." Shinsuke, his Shinsuke, whispers back. "I was tired of waiting." He says, putting the mug aside and throwing himself in his arms, enveloping Atsumu in his heat. 

Atsumu's body tingles all over, he's floating, carefully holding Shinsuke in his hands, ready to kiss six years worth of wait in a night, so may he keep it.

May he preserve with all zeal, care and patience, the preciousness he carries in his hands, that witty little mouth that enjoys every bit of skin it can get, the smile never leaving. It's wide enough to strain Kita's eyes a little, the most gorgeous sight Atsumu has ever had, combing his hair away from his face to lean his forehead against Atsumu's. 

He doesn't know how he ended up on the sofa nor why Kita hasn't considered giving him the clothes back, but he might as well not complain, Atsumu's 17 year old self would kill him for that. 

May this night, their love, the questions he's leaving for tomorrow morning, never be immortal, since they are and have always been the warmth of a flame. 

But may it all be infinite while it lasts, and may Atsumu and Shinsuke savour every last bit of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Putting references down, the title and the end were inspired in the sonnet of fidelity by Vinícius de Morais because I am sappy like that
> 
> Warmth by Bastille is a song that goes really well with this story 
> 
> If you fell down here on your parachutes, consider leaving me a comment they make my day <3


End file.
